


All We Gotta Do Is Be Brave And Be Kind (Baby, We'll Be Fine)

by kubis



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Politics, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:46:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8717971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kubis/pseuds/kubis
Summary: Senator Nathaniel Fick of Maryland decides to run for president in 2024 election. What happened before, what happens after and what Brad thinks about all of this. (Note: It was written in 2010 for WarBigBang over at livejournal. Since it's been six years, the story's a bit dated in some ways, but I hope it can still be enjoyable as it is.)





	1. Chapter 1

_Q: The anniversary of ending the war in Iraq is coming up next week. You were there early on, in 2003. How do you feel about your experiences now, after so many years?  
  
A: I’ve stopped questioning myself a long time ago. At first I was constantly second-guessing myself. ‘If this is what I should have done’, ‘What would happen if’. There were a lot of ‘if’s and ‘what about’s. In the end, my whole platoon came back home. That’s what matters the most to me. That's what makes me proud. [Pause.] Truth is, there’s no simple answer to your question. On one hand, there are some things you can never forget. On the other, after Iraq, nothing in the Senate can scare me that much. [Laughs a little.]_   
  
  
*  
  
  
If a night was particularly bad, Nate would say that nights were the worst. There had to be a limit to how often a man could watch his men getting shot, bombed or crucified, or young children being mutilated and left for dead or shot in close range by his gun, by his hand. There had to be a limit of sleepless hours, waking up in sweat-soaked cold sheets or never even falling asleep at all, just lying there. Just lying there, like in a grave. Sometimes he'd wish that he was back there, where the noises ringing in his ears could be easily explained and where he was so tired that when he could rest, when he allowed himself to do so, he just lay down and immediately fell asleep.  
Sometimes he wished he never went there in the first place.  
  
But then a day would come and really, that was just so much worse. Driving a car was a nightmare. A few weeks spent in Iraq erased almost ten years of his experience behind the wheel. There was glass in the windows and air-conditioning. He could see hundreds of cars around, but not one of them was a humvee. There was a radio, but there were no reports. There was life outside, but one day he spent two hours sitting in the car in the parking lot outside of KFC, because he couldn't stop the images of ruined Nasiriyah.  
  
Sometimes he didn't leave his apartment all day and watched TV on mute or too loud. He waited for the sun to go down and then he would go for a run. He knew every block, every building; if asked, he could probably tell how many windows there were in every one of them.  
  
Every time he went to the bathroom, he spent a couple of minutes just looking at his face. Resolving things. Looking for things.  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _Q: Your partner is in the Marine Corps and you were serving together in Iraq. He was in your platoon, under your command. There were some rumors back when your campaign for a Senate seat started...  
  
A: Yes. They weren't true. I'm sure you're aware that there was a formal investigation and we were found innocent. The truth was that while we did meet when I was Brad's commanding officer, our relationship started more than two years after I retired from the Marine Corps. There was no fraternization and certainly nothing that could dishonor either one of us or put us or any Marine we served with at risk of any kind. I deeply cared, still care, for every Marine I've ever had under my command. The bond that's forged between marines, or soldiers of any other branch, is not a myth. It's respect, mutual responsibility, understanding and a few other things we would prefer not to name. So we're all using probably the closest thing that can explain it: a brotherhood.  
  
Q: Brothers in arms?  
  
A: Yes, exactly. As a commanding officer, I didn't have the same relationship with the men in my platoon as they had among themselves. There's always a line between the command and the people following orders. But I think we did alright. [Smiles.]_  
  
  
*  
  
  
The paddle party at Mike's had been going on for at least four hours already when Nate finished off his second beer. He was definitely too sober for most of the other guys, but this party was one of those things that he felt he had to get through sober because he would embarrass himself otherwise.  
  
Not that he would tell anybody this, obviously.  
  
He had one beer in him when they gave him the paddle and he still almost cried then and there. Fortunately, Ray Person thought it would be a great idea to start stripping right after. Half of the guys started to record it, the other half just went to get more alcohol and Nate had a moment to close his eyes and breathe.  
  
He didn't want to think about tomorrow, about Monday, about next week. This party was the last time all those guys would be _his_. No matter what he felt, they wouldn't be his the next time they see each other.  
  
They told him their stories. The first training session, working together on their humvees in Camp Mathilda, the cover up of the espresso maker fiasco, _directing traffic_ in the ambush outside Muwaffaqiya, rapping competitions in the command vehicle, standing up to _You-Know-Who_ (and of course the joke about Voldemort came right after, but Ray's delivery made it funny), letting Stafford stay with the platoon after he got shot... It went on and on, and Nate was collecting those good stories as they spoke.  
  
Now he was thinking about his own.  
  
Lying in his grave and listening to Poke telling Reporter about his wife and kids and to Reporter's tales from his former marriage. They were on the route to Baghdad and Nate was tired beyond words, but still couldn't sleep, and somehow those stories helped.  
  
Ray's rants about the future of the world, which were brilliant, but couldn't be shared with civilians. After stripping them of all the pussy and the insults towards pretty much everyone and everything, it just wouldn't be the same.  
  
Brad running in the grass, flying with his arms outstretched, looking almost like an innocent kid that he wasn't.  
  
Mike always being next to him, making him feel a little less alone, pissed off or helpless.  
  
Speaking of whom.  
  
"You alright?" Mike asked and handed him another beer. He sat on the patio chair next to Nate.  
  
"I'm fine," he said, looking at the group sitting around the grill.  
  
Some of the guys were staying in the Corps, a couple of them were transferring and a couple were leaving for good. Nate was proud of all of them, of what they did, but couldn't help being happy for every one who decided to retire. Fuck, maybe in the end he wasn't a good officer, worrying about his guys too much, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't protect them anymore. And he knew it was a stupid thought, really, because his job was never to _protect_ them, not to mention he wasn't the only one or even the best one to lead them. He wasn't irreplaceable.  
  
Still, the picture of them sitting like this, in t-shirts and jeans or khakis, looking both similar and not at all like how they were in Iraq, made him feel like he was suffocating.  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _Q: And after you retired, you began a relationship with one of them.  
  
A: No. After I retired, I came back to college and Brad left the country for two years on an exchange program with the Royal Marines. We talked sometimes and became friends. And then it went like most friends-turn-partners stories, I suppose. [Smiles.] We decided we wanted more than friendship._  
  
  
*  
  
  
Nate learned how to not be gay in the Marine Corp as quickly as he did almost anything else. It wasn't that hard, really. You could be so good that nobody would think of asking, whether in fear of getting the answer (they really couldn't afford to lose any more people than they already did, but that insight would come up years later) or with stupid belief that anybody that good couldn't be gay. You could talk a lot about your past girlfriend (and not even lie about her, in Nate's case) or about pussy in general. You could not mention cock at all or you could talk about it a lot, depending which one meant more in establishing hetero status in any given group.  
  
You just dropped the gay part of you, the same way you dropped the tired part, the lazy part, the I-don't-know-what-M-16-can-do-to-a-person part. Some of those parts you could get back when you left. Others you forgot you had ever had.  
  
And apparently, in combat different emotions could sometimes blur together and become unrecognizable or hidden. You didn't see desire, because you thought of trust, of mutual understanding that brought you closer to someone. You explained to yourself that the need to be close was the need to rely on someone, to not go crazy with incompetence and stupidity, and with fear of losing people because of that. You took comfort the best way you could, the best way that was allowed to the Marine Corps officer.  
  
It hadn't been until Nate was back home that he started to see that wasn't all there was. It hadn't been until Brad left for England that Nate started to understand.  
  
.  
  
There were months when they didn't speak with each other at all and usually Nate didn't even miss it much. Between classes and the internship, between studying and working, there was no time for missing anything, he made sure of that.  
  
But between those months there were several phone calls and e-mails and most of the time Nate couldn't decide if they were not enough or too much. Probably both. Still, they were enough to sustain the connection, whatever that connection might be.  
  
.  
  
It wasn't like Nate was meeting or even talking with other guys from his platoon regularly. Aside from Mike, who he talked to every week when they were both stateside, and Ray, who semi-regularly sent all of them crazy e-mails, the contact was rare. During his two years with the Royal Marines Brad missed only two big get-togethers, Stafford's wedding and Mike's I Let You Into My House, But You Better Behave and Clean Up After Yourself Before My Wife and Kids Return party.  
  
So although Brad was the one Nate hadn't seen for the longest time, he wasn't the only one Nate missed. Still, Nate had two years to think and to sort out his feelings, and he knew very well that no matter what, he would always feel differently about Brad.  
  
.  
  
They were sitting in Mike's kitchen, in the exact same place as two and a half years ago, just after Nate's paddle party. It was again the middle of the night, around four a.m. and most of the other guys were either sleeping somewhere or, like in Christeson's case, lying unconscious on the patio chair.  
  
There were new pictures and drawings on the fridge and new shelves above the table. The chairs were still as uncomfortable as the last time, yet they were still sitting on them, over two hours after they came to get the beers.  
  
It was a relief, to still be able to talk with Brad after their lives drifted apart so much. At the paddle party Brad's two years abroad seemed like forever and Nate’s retirement actually was forever. He remembered how he felt then that maybe it's stupid to try to hold on to something that was in the past already. The most significant year of his life over and done with and maybe all parts of it would just disappear as well. He felt like it was some kind of hellish post-summer camp experience, when you just didn't hold on to the friends you made away from home. He remembered Afghanistan and how many guys he was still close with (one). Nate had faith in Mike and him, but he just didn't know what to think (or do, or feel) about Brad.  
  
It was a relief, to still be able to talk with Brad. To some degree, he felt that way every time they talked on the phone when Brad was away, joy and relief that he called again and that they were still in tune with each other, still able to get each other, while at the same time slowly but surely moving away from rank differences and power imbalance. But it took meeting Brad again in person and talking with him in slightly hushed voices in Mike's kitchen for over two hours for Nate to fully believe that.  
  
But Brad wasn't an open book, to put it mildly, and it took Nate almost three years to understand his own feelings, and he wasn't exactly sober right now, so he probably shouldn't. He probably should just be happy they could be friends.  
  
"Hey, Nate." Brad's fingers stroked his hand just to get his attention, Nate was sure, but it didn't change the fact that his heart started beating faster. "What are you thinking about?"  
  
And he should just lie. Nothing wrong about it, just a simple little lie, simple 'I'm not telling you I'm in love with you'. He was going to lie.  
  
He didn't.  
  
"I think about the fact that kissing you will probably ruin our relationship."  
  
He was probably more drunk than he'd thought, but still sober enough to be scared out of his fucking mind. He lasted ten seconds of silence and stood up, only to be stopped by Brad standing up as well and blocking his way.  
  
"It depends on what our relationship is going to be," Brad said, trying for calm and collected, but Nate heard the nervous tension, he could feel it between them.  
  
"I know what I would like it to be," Nate said quietly, his hand twitching to reach out and touch, but _not now, not now, maybe never, if it went wrong_ , "but I'm good with friendship, too. I just don't want to... It will be whatever we _both_ want it to be."  
  
"Okay," Brad whispered and put his hand on Nate's neck, bringing him closer. "Okay," he said and kissed him.  
  
.  
  
If only it was so easy.  
  
.  
  
They left Mike's house at dawn, leaving a note about Brad teaching Nate how to surf, and went to Brad's motel room.  
  
When they started kissing, Nate's hands wandered to Brad's head, as if to hold on to him, to keep him where he was. But his hair was too short to have a grip on it and Nate ended up leaving marks on the back of Brad's neck with his nails. Brad's hands were on Nate's hips, pulling him closer and closer, as if there was any more way to go after being molded into each other, their bodies touching from ankles to foreheads.  
  
After that it was skin on skin, kisses and touches turning desperate, both marking and being marked and whispering the need for more.  
  
When Nate came for the first time that night, it was with Brad's fingers around his cock and his face tucked into Brad's neck, salt of Brad's skin on his tongue.  
  
.  
  
 _It will be whatever we_ both _want it to be_ , Nate told Brad that first night and he meant it, wanted it to be true. It wasn't, though.  
  
They didn't want it to be long-distance, seeing each other every couple of months, not nearly often enough. Not close enough. But Brad was back at Pendleton and Nate was in Baltimore, and there wasn't any other way.  
  
They didn't want it filled with unasked and unanswered questions, like: _What are we, what are we doing?_ and: _You're going to leave me one day._  
  
They ( _Nate_ ) didn't want it hidden.  
  
They ( _Brad_ ) didn't know how to talk about it.  
  
But they both wanted this relationship to work, so they adjusted and kept going. They learned how to live with the imperfections.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _Q: I guess it wasn't easy.  
  
A: No, it wasn't. But no relationship is easy, not really. Especially if it's long-distance, like ours was for a couple of years._  
  
  
*  
  
  
When Brad went back to Iraq for his next deployment, it was a nightmare.  
  
Nate was almost living at work, coming in before everyone else and staying up long after he was supposed to go home. His dreams kept him awake, so he preferred not to go to bed at all and most of the time he fell asleep in random places in his apartment, like on the couch or on the floor next to coffee table. It was like when he got back from Iraq, only now every dream featured Brad, Brad bleeding, Brad dying, Brad blown up.  
  
Nate had cold showers and long runs, but no one to talk to.  
  
.  
  
"Still alive, sir."  
  
Breath in,  
  
"I'm glad,"  
  
breath out.  
  
.  
  
"You look like shit," Beth told him, when Nate opened the door.  
  
"I've missed you, too," he replied, letting her in. She didn't call to say she was coming, but it wasn't anything new.  
  
She hugged him hard, right there in the hall.  
  
"I know something's wrong. And you _will_ talk, I have cookies."  
  
Nate hugged her back, putting his chin on her head, and closed his eyes. She had cookies.  
  
.  
  
"Brad Colbert."  
  
"Yes." He made himself look her in the eyes. It was important.  
  
"It's... Well, it's not really _that_ surprising, I suppose."  
  
"What..."  
  
"Can I tell Mom?" she asked quickly, grinning.  
  
"No."  
  
"Nathaniel," she said, because yes, they were one of those families where people used full names to intimidate each other.  
  
"Not yet. Not before he comes back."  
  
"You moron," she said, but she wasn't playing anymore.  
  
"He has to come back first," he repeated calmly and went to get more beer.  
  
.  
  
"I told my sister about the girl I'm seeing," Nate said, painfully aware of what he was and wasn't allowed to say during a phone call sponsored by the United States Marine Corps.  
  
"And what did she say?" Brad asked just when the silence was becoming too long.  
  
"She said, and I quote, 'it's not really _that_ surprising'. I guess I had talked about her a few times."  
  
Brad laughed.  
  
"I'm glad it went well."  
  
"Me too," Nate smiled. He wasn't worried about the guy part, his family had known about his homosexuality for years, but he was worried about the ‘guy that was under his command’ part. Nate had made peace with this, because it was in the past and a lot of things changed, but some people might see it differently. He was glad Beth didn't. "It just..." he started, remembering how lonely and tired, and terrified, he felt before she came. "It was the right time, you know?"  
  
In that moment he would immediately reenlist, if it meant seeing Brad in the flesh, touching him right then. He tightened his grip on the phone instead.  
  
"I know," came Brad’s soft reply.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _Q: Even before you started your political career, you were one of the people speaking up about getting rid of DADT regulations. Was it because of your personal situation?  
  
A: Apart from the fact that it was morally a right thing to do, yes, it was also personal. By then I was retired for years, but my partner is in the Marine Corps and I didn’t want to live a lie, I wanted to be able to tell people about us, to share it with others.  
  
Q: But you didn't come out immediately after DADT was revoked.  
  
A: Well, technically we had come out to our families and the closest friends before that. But yes, it took us some time to tell other people._  
  
  
*  
  
  
They almost broke up because of it. ‘Almost’, because Nate didn’t want to remember that one week when Brad disappeared after rather heated discussion about their future.  
  
Nate had understood keeping things quiet when DADT was still a law. Hell, he wasn’t an overly caring and sharing type and he didn’t need constant PDAs or grand gestures. But when nearly a year after evoking DADT, he still couldn’t touch Brad anywhere even half-public without having him get tense and move away? Yes, Nate had a problem with that.  
  
So they had the talk. Like always, Nate did most of the talking, but he was used to that by then. Brad Colbert couldn’t handle a serious conversation about anything personal that went past up to five or six sentences from his side.  
  
Nate was used to that, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.  
  
“Our families know, and our friends, all the people that matters. I don’t understand why I have to tell everyone about my personal life.”  
  
“You don’t have to tell everyone you meet. But you don’t have to hide it from them either,” Nate tried to explain.  
  
Not to mention that even at family gatherings Brad acted more like his friend than his lover. But yeah, no PDAs.  
  
“Not sharing doesn’t mean I’m hiding,” Brad said.  
  
“It shouldn’t.” _But I’m afraid it does_ , he thought.  
  
“It doesn’t. I just don’t feel the need to talk to anyone about it,” Brad insisted.  
  
 _To anyone_. Nate tried for it not to hurt him. He didn’t ask what Brad did whenever someone asked. Did he tell the truth then? If yes, was it ‘I’m with Nate’ or just ‘I’m with someone’? If not, was it a lie of omission like ‘No, there’s no girlfriend’ or was it ‘I’m single’?  
Nate wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. Well, okay, yes, he did, but not then, he didn’t want to piss off Brad even more. He could see him fidgeting and getting irritated already.  
  
“What about the future, Brad? You know I want to get more involved in politics. What happens when I run for office? I won’t have paparazzi following me, but it still is a rather public life. Personal stuff come up and I don’t want to lie.”  
  
“And I don’t want to have my sex life become some story people are going to read in papers or see on the news,” Brad’s voice got harsh and he stood up.  
  
Nate didn’t even try to stop the hurt this time. He sat still when Brad left and he didn’t move long after the roar of Brad’s Yamaha quieted down.  
  
It was very movie-like, all things considered.  
  
.  
  
The second day Brad was gone, he sent Nate a text saying ‘ _I need to clear my head a little. I will be back soon_ ’. Nate appreciated it, because he really didn’t want to have to start calling people. If he called Ray, all guys from Recon would know in an hour, maybe two if they’re overseas. If he called Brad’s mother or sister, _his_ mother and sisters would know in ten minutes.  
  
He texted back ‘ _Okay_ ’, because he didn’t feel like saying anything else.  
  
The fourth day his mother called. It was actually three and a half days later than he suspected, he was impressed with Brad’s ninja skills at hiding. Recon Marines training or not, there weren’t a lot of things that got past their mothers.  
  
“Nathaniel, why didn’t you tell me you and Brad had a fight?”  
  
“Because we didn’t, Mom.” Not exactly.  
  
“Don’t give me this bullshit, honey.” His mother wasn’t a typical mother. “I had just spoken to Eliza, she said that Brad’s in Florida. Why would he be there, instead of home?”  
  
Nate rested his head on the desk in front of him.  
  
“He needed to get away, see the ocean. You know how he gets when he’s in D.C. too long without a break.”  
  
That was true, Brad loved working in Quantico, but he missed the ocean. East Coast wasn’t the same, Florida wasn’t California, but it was Brad’s substitute and escape.  
  
“I know, but I don’t believe that’s the problem this time,” his mother said, worry evident in her tone. “Whatever it is, it’ll get better, Nate. Brad may be stupid sometimes, but he loves you. That’s obvious to anyone who have seen the two of you together.”  
  
These last words scratched an open wound, but Nate wasn’t going to let his mother know that.  
  
“I know he loves me, Mom.” It wasn’t a problem. No matter how much a remark about ‘sex life’ stung, Nate knew how Brad felt about him. You couldn’t have what they had without loving each other. “Don’t worry about us, Brad will be home soon.”  
  
.  
  
It took over a week for Brad to come back.  
  
Nate went out for his morning run and when he got back, Brad was sitting on the couch in the living room. Nate kicked off his sneakers and watched how Brad stood up and started to come closer. He stepped closer, too, and when they were at touching distance, he kissed Brad, hard and a little painful, his right hand getting hold of Brad’s hip instead of colliding with his face.  
  
He pulled away.  
  
“I’m glad you’re back. But now I need a shower.”  
  
Nate turned and went to the bathroom.  
  
He was washing his hair when the shower door opened and Brad came in. They didn’t shower together often, but there was enough space to fit them both when they needed it.  
  
Brad’s fingers joined his in his hair, massaging his head gently. Nate let his arms fall to his sides and closed his eyes. He went willingly when Brad maneuvered him under the spray. After a few moments he felt Brad’s hands settle on his neck, thumbs behind his ears, stroking his matching soft spots there. Nate tilted his head and opened his eyes, looking at Brad. His skin was darker than when he left; Florida’s sun clearly did its magic. Nate wondered how the ocean looked, but he didn’t want to ask.  
  
Brad kissed him gently and all remains of anger slowly slipped away from Nate. He felt himself relax, shoulders losing the tension they carried for a week. He moved his lips to Brad’s neck and collarbone, hiding his face there for a moment.  
  
.  
  
“I won’t lie about you and me to anyone ever again,” Brad said, later, when they were lying in their bed. “I promise you, Nate.”  
  
Nate kissed his shoulder and smiled.  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _Q: It took some time, but now not only you're out as a couple, you're also married.  
  
A: Yes, we are. [Smiles.]  
  
Q: For how long?  
  
A: Nine years.  
  
Q: Big anniversary next year!  
  
A: [Laughs.] Yes, that's true. But on the other hand, last year we had the fifteenth anniversary of being together, so... numbers are getting mixed up._  
  
  
*  
  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Everything alright?" Nate closed his eyes for a moment and let his head fall back on the couch. Mike had this freaky ability to recognize his mood from one word.  
  
"Everything's fine. Just, you know, stupid people at work."  
  
"I know, I was right there with you, learning a lot about it during OIF. And then you had to go into politics, as if you didn't have enough of the stupidity there."  
  
"I'm a masochist."  
  
"Clearly, I'm not going to argue that one," Mike deadpanned. "So, what was it?"  
  
It was stupid, really.  
  
"There's this guy, Stevenson, who decided that if I'm not married, I don't have a chance to become a senator," Nate said. "He made it very clear that me being gay is difficult enough, me being gay and in an informal relationship..."  
  
"Does he know that you've been in the same 'informal relationship' for what, seven years now?"  
  
"Apparently it doesn't matter to him. But fuck him, I don't care what he thinks..."  
  
"Clearly." Mike wasn't his Gunnery Seargant for years now, but he never stopped to call him on his bullshit, when Nate needed it. And when he didn't.  
  
"...I wouldn't be the first gay senator without a husband. Not so long ago they wouldn't even allow us to get married. Now the fact that I didn't is a problem."  
  
"For whom?" Mike asked and Nate wondered if he was even listening to him.  
  
"According to Stevenson, for the Republican party."  
  
"Stupid people are the fact of life. The problem of the Republican party is the number of them _in_ the party. It's not your problem. You want me to tell you what your problem is, Nate?”  
  
No.  
  
"Sure, why not."  
  
"The real problem here is that you want to get married."  
  
Nate closed his eyes.  
  
"Mike."  
  
"Don't tell me it's not true. You always looked like the marrying type to me."  
  
Nate didn't say that it was probably before he knew Nate was gay. It wasn't supposed to change anything and it would be unfair to Mike.  
  
"I'm not asking him to marry me to become more politically correct, Mike."  
  
"Do you want to marry him?"  
  
Mike was a pain in the ass.  
  
"I want to be with him for the rest of our lives, married or not."  
  
"That doesn't answer my question. Do you want to marry him, Nate?"  
  
Nate sighed.  
  
"I won't ask him. I hadn't asked him before, now it would look like political game."  
  
"He knows you better than that." _Idiot_ was definitely implied, but it was implied half the time Mike talked to him anyway.  
  
"I won't ask him."  
  
He could almost see Mike rolling his eyes at him.  
  
"Do I really have to play marriage counselor here? He would say yes."  
  
"You don't know that for sure."  
  
"Yes, I do. Why don't you?"  
  
Nate was silent for a long moment.  
  
"He didn't say anything."  
  
"And you were so forthcoming."  
  
"I know. It's just..."  
  
"You are basically married already. You've been together for years and that's not going to change."  
  
Nate opened his mouth to answer when he heard the movement. He turned and saw Brad standing in the doorway, with his arms crossed and his eyes looking straight at him.  
  
"I need to go, Mike. Brad's home," Nate said and closed his phone.  
  
They were both silent for a minute. Nate didn't even know what to say. He didn't know how much Brad had heard.  
  
"Yes, it would be the right move for your career. So what? That's the reason we shouldn't do it? It's insane," Brad said, coming into the room. They did this sometimes, they would start in the middle of a conversation and just go from there.  
  
"I don't want it to be a game, Brad," said Nate, getting up from the couch. His voice was tired, like they’d discussed it many times, not for the first time.  
  
"I know you don't. Neither do I. If this was the only reason. But it's not."  
  
They stood in front of each other, almost touching. Nate's fingers were half-way towards Brad's hip, before Nate stopped himself, suddenly unsure.  
  
"Do you want to get married?" Brad asked.  
  
"I think it's the best way to ensure all the rights we can get" was the first stupid thing Nate came up with.  
  
"How romantic."  
  
Nate looked at Brad and hoped that their talking-without-talking thing worked this time, too. _You already know how I feel about you. You already know my reasons._  
  
Apparently it worked just fine, because Brad put his hand on Nate's neck and pulled him closer.  
  
"We both want it, but neither one of us would ask, if there wasn't any other reason to say anything. Is this what's happening here?"  
  
"Maybe," Nate breathed into Brad's mouth.  
  
"We're crazy." Brad ran his tongue on Nate's lower lip.  
  
"And stupid." Nate licked into Brad's mouth, his fingers on Brad's hips.  
  
They kissed slowly for a minute and when they parted, Brad asked:  
  
"So, are we doing this?"  
  
"This is how you propose? Really? How romantic." Nate's hands were on Brad's back, stroking slowly. He was grinning.  
  
"Hey, you were the one that came up with the idea, Fick. You should propose." Brad was whispering with his mouth touching Nate's. "Not that the answer will surprise you, really."  
Brad was right, Nate knew that. But that didn't stop him from being nervous and it took a moment before he was sure his voice would work without a hitch.  
  
Brad's eyes were dark blue and expectant.  
  
"Would you marry me?"  
  
Brad's fingers were touching Nate's ears, tips stroking slowly, when he said "yes" and kissed Nate again. Nate hid his head for a moment against Brad's neck, breathing in.  
  
"So," said Brad after a while, "are you calling your mother or should I?"  
  
.  
  
"In the interest of full disclosure - I wouldn't say yes if I knew what's going to happen," said Brad, coming behind Nate, who was looking through the window. Outside there were over seventy people waiting for them to get married.  
  
"Liar," Nate laughed and turned around. He wondered briefly if the sight of Brad in uniform would ever _not_ make his heart beat a little faster, but he decided that it was unlikely. He stroked Brad's sides and drew him closer for a kiss.  
  
Brad smiled.  
  
"Well, you make a valid point," he said and kissed Nate again. "But I'm not sure it's enough to survive the next couple of hours, you know. There's Ray who will probably hump Walt's leg, although hopefully after the ceremony, not in the middle of it. There are our mothers who will most definitely cry, _again_ , during and after, and maybe even tomorrow as well, because it's _so beautiful_..."  
  
Nate smacked him in the head.  
  
"Please don't impersonate my mother ever again."  
  
"Or at least until you say yes. After that, everything is allowed."  
  
"I think we should talk more before the ceremony, you know. Make sure we understand each other." Nate started to move away, but Brad just tightened his hold.  
  
"Oh no, it's too late now."  
  
"Is it? Because I didn't make any vows yet."  
  
"But you paid for my ring. You don't want to lose that money."  
  
"Well," Nate pretended to consider that. "The economy isn't so good, I guess I should try to hold on to my investments."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
They grinned at each other and Nate wouldn't tell anybody this, ever, but when Brad smiled at him like that, Nate felt... Well, Nate was a pretty confident man and he knew what he was capable of, but when Brad smiled at him like that, he felt like he could do more and be more. And yes, Nate was aware how that sounded, thank you very much. There was a reason he wasn't going to tell anybody about this.  
  
They were about to kiss, when they heard his mother coming in.  
  
"Boys... oh," she stopped in the doorway and looked at them adoringly. Nate remembered the time when his mother wasn't tearing up every time she saw them, but that was before they told her they wanted to get married. He really hoped it would end after they did it, because that would be difficult otherwise.  
  
Brad stood with his back to her, so he could roll eyes freely. Nate bit his lip not to laugh.  
  
"It's time, boys."  
  
Brad raised his eyebrows at Nate, question in his eyes. Nate shook his head and smiled.  
  
"We're going, Mom."  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _Q: Do you think we will ever see an openly gay person becoming the President of the United States?  
A: Are you fishing for an answer if I’m going to run? [Smiles.] In our lifetimes we have seen the first black person and the first woman to become president. I really hope we’ll get the chance to see an openly gay person in the White House, too.  
Q: Is this going to be you, Senator?  
A: [Laughs.] Next question, please._


	2. Chapter 2

_After today's announcement from Governor of Michigan George Martenson (R) that he's going to run for president in next year's election, I think we can say that the season has started. I believe that in the next few weeks or maybe even months we will see new candidates throwing their hats in the game, both Republicans and Democrats. Who will that be? Will there be any surprises? Ana, what do you think?”  
  
"Thank you, Vanessa. Yes, Governor Martenson's hat is first in the game, but soon there should be many more. Apart from Martenson, Senator Willow Stern of Ohio is also the obvious candidate for the Republicans. There are rumors about California Governor Michael Tanning and Senator Nathaniel Fick of Maryland, but nothing is confirmed. When it comes to the Democratic Party, the only obvious choice is Vice-President Anthony Miller, but some sources suggest that Senator Patrick Stewart of New Jersey may join the race._”  
  
  
*  
  
  
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, because Brad couldn't say no.  
  
It wasn't like he didn't know that Nate wanted this. He did. But it was just one of those things. You can't like everything about the other person. Some people didn't like their partner's cleaning habits or lack thereof and Brad didn't like the fact that Nate's dream was to become the fucking president of the United States.  
  
Yeah, one of those things.  
  
.  
  
"Well, if anyone in this country can become the first gay president it's the LT." Poke didn't even blink. Brad hated Poke. "It sure ain't gonna be easy, though."  
  
No shit.  
  
"Well, maybe he should have fucking thought about it before getting involved with me. With a nice girl he wouldn't even need to try," he said and downed a shot.  
  
Poke looked at him incredulously. Brad signaled to the waitress that he wanted two beers.  
  
"First of all, don't flatter yourself, your dick and charming personality didn't turn Nate gay. Second, dog, I hope you didn't tell him that."  
  
"I'm not that stupid." Or that masochistic.  
  
"Yes, you are. But he would have to punch you in the face and he would walk away, and the press would just love that."  
  
The thing was, Nate would not walk away. He would get pissed, he would punch him, maybe, but he would not leave Brad. He was a stubborn motherfucker and he would stay, if only to prove Brad wrong.  
  
The thing was, Nate had never even mentioned Brad leaving the Corps. Never. Even if that would make their lives much easier. But they wouldn't be where they are (together, married, in politics or in military), if they were any good at making their lives easier, right?  
  
"Besides," Poke continued, "you knew who he was. That guy who wants to fight for a shot at becoming the president is the same guy that fought with the stupid command in Iraq to make sure we do the right thing _and_ get out alive. That guy was meant for shit like this and you know it. Don't be stupid, Iceman."  
  
It wasn't like Brad forgot the OIF or Nate there. It was just that his Nate, present Nate, both was and wasn't like Nate from Iraq and it was sometimes difficult to remind himself about that past version of him.  
  
"He could hire you to write his fucking speeches, he will need those."  
  
And that was that.  
  
.  
  
Brad woke up and found the other side of the bed empty. He looked at the clock and frowned. It was a little after five and if someone was supposed to get up early today, it was him. He had been dreaming about surfing for weeks. And now when they were in California for a few days and the beach was right outside their doors, literally, Nate was up before him?  
  
He went to the bathroom first, then to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The house was quiet and empty. He went outside on the porch and saw Nate sitting on the sand so close to the ocean that every time a wave came, his feet were getting wet.  
  
Brad nudged him with his foot when he got closer.  
  
"What are you doing up?" he asked, sitting beside him.  
  
Nate nudged him back with his knee and shrugged.  
  
"Just thinking." After a moment when Brad didn't say anything, he continued. "The polling numbers came in."  
  
"And?"  
  
Brad believed that whatever Nate wanted, Nate would get, but he also thought that this country had too many stupid people to get something done most of the time. So it could go both ways and he didn't know which one was the cause for sitting on the beach before dawn.  
  
"They're good. They're not amazing, but they're really good," Nate said, looking at him. Brad put his hand on the nape of Nate's neck and squeezed, his thumb stroking softly behind the ear.  
  
"That's good," he whispered.  
  
Nate leaned into his touch.  
  
"That's also terrifying."  
  
"A little, yeah," Brad had to agree. Because it was, when he really thought about this. "But that has never stopped you before."  
  
"It's not stopping me now, either." Nate kicked him lightly. "I'm just saying. I woke up, I called, they told me and suddenly it all became so real." A pause. "I know it sounds stupid."  
  
Brad shrugged.  
  
"It doesn't. I understand. When you join the Marine Corps, you don't know it's real until you're ready to pass out during the basic training."  
  
Nate chuckled at that.  
  
"Thanks for the analogy, I can't wait for all the passing out and being dead tired."  
  
"Dead tired, yes. But I wouldn't recommend passing out, that could scare your constituents off."  
  
"We wouldn't want that," Nate smiled.  
  
Brad looked at him and tried to imagine Nate as the president. He tried to picture him in the Oval Office, making decisions he would have the final say in. Sending them to war or not. Approving the military and intelligence reforms he had been thinking about for years. Being the person he had wanted to be most of his adult life, maybe longer.  
  
"No, we wouldn't," Brad said finally, kissing him on the ear.  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _BALTIMORE, Maryland (CNN): Senator Nathaniel Fick of Maryland announced this morning that he's going to run for president in 2024 election.  
  
In his home state, where he has served as a senator for over nine years now, he told thousands of people that although "the time has come for a Republican to come back to the White House," he truly believed that "Americans are more than ready to look above the dichotomy and work truly together." "There are causes that affect us all," he said, "like national security and education of our children. These are causes that are important and reforming them is long overdue. Now is the time."  
  
If he is elected, the 46-year-old Fick will become the first openly gay person to become the president of the United States.  
  
Other Republicans that publicly announced their start in the race are: Michigan Governor George Martenson, Senator Willow Stern of Ohio and former Senator Keith Marlow of Texas. California Governor Michael Tanning is expected to announce his candidacy next week._  
  
  
*  
  
  
The campaigning was crazy. Rushed phone calls, tired voices, not enough time together and not enough sex reminded Brad of the time when he was still active duty and they had to hide who they were. In other words, not the time he wanted to repeat ever again. But he also couldn't - and didn't want to, really - travel around the country with Nate, so they didn't have much choice.  
  
Nate was still a senator, so he was coming back to D.C. as often as he could. But the time they had was seriously limited and Brad's co-workers started to notice that he was a bigger asshole than usual. They could go fuck themselves, as far as Brad was concerned.  
  
He joined Nate on a campaign trail a few times, never for long, never to be seen on a stage or wherever else. Martha, Nate's campaign director, was probably plotting his murder already, after figuring out that Nate would be better off a mourning widower than a husband of an invisible and uncooperative Bradley Colbert. He would tell her to go fuck herself, but she was one of the five women that Brad considered to be fucking scary from time to time. Also, she and Nate got on like a house on fire and if they were going to take over the world, he preferred to be on her good side.  
  
If Nate won the nomination, Brad should probably try to do just that. But for now it was more like this:  
  
"You could show yourself on the stage," she would start.  
  
"No," he would say and end the conversation as soon as possible.  
  
Or like this:  
  
"Could you stay tomorrow for dinner?" she would ask.  
  
"I leave at sixteen hundred hours tomorrow," he would remind her.  
  
"I know, I'm asking you if you could stay and go to the dinner with the senator. You could talk with those guys about the programs you work on and..."  
  
"I have things to work on, exactly," he would say, "and that's why I can't stay longer."  
  
Or like this:  
  
"I thought you were going to come to us this weekend," she would say.  
  
"I was going to, yes, but then you changed your plans and instead of going to Cleveland, Ohio, you decided to go to Dicksville, South Carolina. And do you really want me to come there?" he asked, not really waiting for the answer. "No, you don't. You want me with Nate when it's good for the campaign and I get it. It's your job. But those homophobic assholes would not appreciate Nate bringing in his husband and you know it."  
  
All in all, it was always a pleasure to chat with her.  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _"America - ready or not?  
submitted by Jeanette A. Markel, September 24th, 2023  
  
With what will most probably be an easy win for Vice-President Anthony Miller in the run for the Democratic Party's nomination, all country looks closely at the other side of the fence. Governor Martenson is the frontrunner, but both Senator Willow Stern and Senator Nathaniel Fick are still very much in the game.  
  
But as we all know, a little competition isn't the only reason we watch the news almost religiously now. Or maybe I should just speak for myself, maybe I'm the only one who is looking at Senator Fick and thinking 'Are we ready?', 'Are we not?'. If I even have to question that, does that mean we are not ready? If he has been a well-known and liked senator for years now, does it mean that we are? I don't know.  
  
What I know is that if the program and the ideas for the country were the only deciding factors (naïve, I know), Senator Stern would be out of the race already and Governor Martenson would be just someone who doesn't know how to quit (*coughs* Marlow *coughs*) or whose party doesn't want to look like the party with only one legitimate candidate.  
  
So tell me, America, are we ready?"  
  
1746 commented on this_  
  
  
*  
  
  
In November they were still hanging in there and they were starting to become stronger and stronger, coming in second or close third in polls. Nate was doing great in the debates and even if his views were more moderate than some of the most conservative Republicans would like, it didn't matter that much, as those people would not vote for him even if he decided to buy every American a gun and go from church to church on his knees. He was also liked by the media, which didn't surprise Brad all that much. Nate was the youngest of the candidates, he was handsome, smart and funny - everything journalists could want from the future president, Brad was sure.  
  
And that was when the fucking hate mail started to arrive.  
  
.  
  
Brad was in the middle of the training session, when two men in black suits came in and stood by the door. And it didn't matter that Brad was seeing guys like that almost on a daily basis or that it looked like the scene from the fucking movie, there was a moment when he thought... There was a moment of blind panic and fuck, but Brad wasn't ready for it. Years ago he had been taught to survive almost anything people could throw at him, but he never felt quite like that. He froze.  
  
It took him a couple of long seconds, but then he was moving, fast but controlled. He took his phone from the bench on the way to the door and could see three missed calls from Nate.  
  
"What happened?" he asked the men, looking from one to the other and clutching his phone to the point of pain.  
  
"Could you please..." started the one on the left, but the other one interrupted him.  
  
"Senator Fick is okay, sir."  
  
Brad liked the other one. The air, too, Brad liked the air and he was glad that his lungs started to work again. He took a deep breath and nodded.  
  
"Okay, so what happened?" he asked again, this time directing the question to the guy who he believed could give him the answers he was looking for and not waste his time. He was the younger of the two, but apparently smarter. Brad led both agents to the empty office right outside the gym.  
  
"The last couple of days there was an alarming increase in the amount of hate mail directed to the senator's office and..."  
  
"Increase? What the fuck do you mean by 'increase'?" Brad was going to kill Nate.  
  
"Almost every politician gets a certain amount of hate mail. Comes with the job, I suppose." The older agent shrugged. "And the higher position he holds, the greater is the chance that it's going to happen. And in the case of the senator..." he waved his hand as if that explained _senator’s case_.  
  
"As far as we know, Senator Fick had been getting some hate mail since the beginning of his presidential campaign, but nothing like that," the younger agent took over, before his partner could bury himself even further in Brad's eyes.  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"The last two days the senator's office, along with the campaign headquarters and the campaign offices in the cities the senator will visit soon, received over four hundred letters. Last week it was almost five hundred. And while most of them are harmless, there were a few that raised some red flags."  
  
"You mean serious threats."  
  
"A few of them, yes. We don't know if something's going to happen, but better safe than sorry. It was decided that Senator Fick will be given basic Secret Service protection from now on. We're here to..."  
  
"Is there an investigation into who sent those threats?"  
  
"Of course there is," the older agent said, looking slightly offended. "But now we wanted to talk to you about your protection."  
  
"I don't want any," answered Brad shortly.  
  
"It would be wise..."  
  
"... to spend your money where it's needed. And I don't need protection. No one was threatening me, I didn't receive any letters from _fans_ and I don't want anybody to follow me around."  
  
"Of course it's your right to refuse protection right now, but I would recommend..."  
  
"No. And now excuse me, gentlemen, I need to call my husband," Brad said, almost challenging the older agent to do something, anything that would justify Brad breaking his nose. Or arm.  
  
Yes, he was mad.  
  
Unfortunately, it looked like both men decided to back off and leave after a quick goodbye, so Brad had to come up with a different idea of how to let go of that anger. But first he had a phone call to make and a senator to kill.  
  
Although it looked like he had to stand in line for that last thing.  
  
And wasn't that a comforting thought.  
  
.  
  
"Apparently a priest from Alabama decided to preach about the devil that's coming to the White House and suggested that the righteous people of God should not allow that to happen." Nate sounded tired on the phone, but lately that was a norm, so Brad decided to let it go. Trying to make Nate get some rest was a lost cause anyway. "Some of those righteous people decided to go further than others."  
  
"Isn't inciting people to commit a crime illegal?"  
  
"It is, but you'd have to prove that he wanted them to do something more than simply vote for one of my opponents or write a letter saying that God hates my kind."  
  
They were lucky - Brad was an atheist, Nate an agnostic and their families, although religious, would pick either of them before any god they believed in any day. But things like that still weren't nice to hear.  
  
"They arrested a few that were the most...graphic in their letters. I think that will be enough, but Secret Service will stay with me anyway."  
  
"That's good."  
  
"Says the man who refused the protection."  
  
"Hey," Brad protested, "I wasn't the one they were threatening to set on heavenly fire or whatever."  
  
Nate let out a sound between a chuckle and a sigh.  
  
"Wouldn't hurt to have someone there."  
  
"Don't tell me you're surprised I didn't want anybody to follow me around. It was hard enough to get rid of Person, it took years and moving to the other coast. _And_ he still calls me."  
  
Now he got a laugh.  
  
"How is Ray, by the way?"  
  
"Still collecting his First Lady jokes. I think he's preparing to publish a collection after you become the president."  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _"Let's look at Senator Nathaniel Fick's current situation. He lost the Iowa caucuses and came close second in Wyoming. After that it was almost fifty-fifty: he won in New Hampshire, lost in Michigan, narrowly won in South Carolina and Florida, lost in Maine. I may be wrong, but I think it's safe to assume that the Super Tuesday will be all about Governor Martenson and Senator Fick. Dorothy, would you like to comment on that?"  
  
.  
  
"The Super Tuesday came and went and we saw George Martenson still in the lead, but he is not an obvious frontrunner anymore. Nathaniel Fick is still fighting hard and he managed to win some of those battles. What do you think, Brian?"  
  
.  
  
"Willow Stern and Keith Marlow both withdrew from the race this week, leaving only George Martenson and Nathaniel Fick still in the game."_  
  
  
*  
  
  
Brad liked Nate's mother, he really did. Apart from being somewhat scary most of the time (especially when she would team up with Brad's mom) and fucking teary this one time (namely: a whole month between their engagement and the wedding), she was a wonderful woman.  
  
He would prefer to spend Saturday at home, though, but she was also a master in guilttripping Nate to do almost anything she wanted, so Brad should probably be glad she wasn't using it more often. One family party every three months he could do, especially if the next day they had to be in Baltimore anyway for a rally.  
  
"Come on in, guys." It wasn't a surprise to anybody that Brad's favourite member of the Fick family, aside from Nate, was his father - a former Marine, quiet and stoic, but with the same dry humor that the rest of them had.  
  
"Uncle Nate!" Chloe was five years old and she wanted to marry Nate one day (or at least that was her plan on Christmas). Brad could admire her good taste in men.  
  
"My favourite little girl!" Nate had her in his arms even before the rest of the family got to the hall.  
  
Technically, they were uncles of Chloe's mother. Brad still remembered Emily as an eleven-year-old and now she had two kids. He was _old_.  
  
And yes, he had that epiphany every time there was a family gathering, so what.  
  
"Glad you could join us, Senator." Beth had been calling her little brother that for years now and it never stopped being funny for Brad. Nate just rolled his eyes and hugged her, conscious of Chloe still in his arms.  
  
"Are you going to continue to call him that after he becomes the president?" Nate's mother joined in, hugging him next.  
  
"I'll call him 'mister president, sir', of course."  
  
Brad laughed.  
  
"I would pay to see that," he told her and she grinned.  
  
"You're on. And I'm wondering how are _you_ going to call him, you know."  
  
"Oh, God."  
  
"Aren't you a little too old for jokes like that?" asked Nate, putting Chloe down.  
  
Beth smacked him in the head. She apparently wasn't too old for that.  
  
"I'm not old at all. And boy, I hope _you_ aren't too old, because..."  
  
"Dinner, anyone?" Nate's dad interrupted. Another reason why Brad liked him.  
  
.  
  
"I think you should focus more on education than military reform tomorrow," said Diane, Beth's younger daughter, sitting next to Nate on the couch after dinner.  
  
"That's the plan," he said, turning to her with a smile, but Brad could see he tensed a little.  
  
"People here are more interested in their children's education anyway," she went on. "Nobody wants to hear about war."  
  
"Diane," Beth said with a warning in her tone. "Let's not talk politics anymore, okay?"  
  
It wasn't about politics, if you asked Brad, it was about being rude. But Nate obviously couldn't let it go.  
  
"I'm going to talk more about the education reform, but the military and intelligence are also on my agenda. We need to change some things..."  
  
"Many things."  
  
"...and the whole country should think about that."  
  
"The majority of this country doesn't want to go to war anymore."  
  
She hadn’t been like that on Christmas. She had been perfectly happy with Nate and didn't challenge his political views, or, well, him in general. Apparently three months in college could change a lot of things.  
  
"It's not only about going to war. Our military needs an internal reform, in terms of leadership and in terms of offering valuable things to recruits, soldiers and veterans alike. Our intelligence agencies need better accountability and better tactics and strategies. We can make our country a safer place just by doing that."  
  
Nate was a politician with years of experience, not to mention he spent a majority of the last year convincing people of what he believed in and debating with people that didn't agree. He could probably do that in his sleep (as he did, a couple of times). But it was clear to Brad that he didn't want to do it here, in front of the family, with Diane, who was so set in her ways that she forgot how to behave.  
  
"Okay, how about we all take a break from politics? If you tire Nate down tonight," he looked at Diane and tried to be nice and play it down, "he won't have any energy left for tomorrow".  
  
"Excellent idea," Beth agreed immediately. She was trying not to look upset, but she was always one of Nate's biggest supporters and she always respected his and their father's military service, the same way she later came to respect Brad's. Having her own daughter speak like that was clearly painful for her. For all of them, really.  
  
.  
  
The next day the whole family joined them at the rally and Martha and Joey, the communications director, were almost ecstatic because of all the family pictures. It was another weak point for Nate - not having children. People, as Martha explained to Brad while trying to convince him to be more visible in the campaign, were used to seeing politicians with their spouses and children. Apparently it made a person look more human and closer to the general public.  
  
Brad stopped trying to understand the whole election process a long time ago.  
  
Nate had a husband (who started to be more visible, thank you very much), but he didn't have children. He had siblings with kids and grandkids instead, though, and from the way the media kept taking pictures and filming the whole family, it was clear that, as Martha said, it was "good enough for them." Brad shrugged. "Good enough" was as far as they could go in that area anyway.  
  
.  
  
They were driving back to D.C. the same night, Brad half-asleep and Nate staring absentmindedly through the window. The glass between them and the agents in the front seats was up, separating them from the world outside of each other.  
  
"How much time do you think I have," asked Nate, turning to look at him, "before Diane will get caught on camera, protesting against the war, with a big sign telling the world where exactly she has my opinion about it?"  
  
Brad couldn't stop laughing for a couple of miles. Then he kissed Nate stupid for the rest of the trip.  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _#Sarah: Church is so obviously for Martenson, it's sick. Where's the separation of church and state??  
  
#_Karl: @Sarah: In the Constitution. lol  
  
#P@ula: priest in our church was almost preaching the gospel of martenson yesterday. wtf. isn't it illegal or sth?  
  
#Pam: @Paula: and what can you do, tell on him to the Pope? He's probably for Martenson, too.  
  
#MollyR: @Pam: Pope is cool for now, he's not saying anything. It's how it should be. Not his bussiness (no offense).  
  
#bishopp: FICK IS HOT!  
  
#Pam: @bishopp: don't we know it. :P_  
  
  
*  
  
  
When the news came, they were both home, watching Die Hard (and no, Brad didn't have anything to do with this, it was one of Nate's favourite movies and Brad could indulge him sometimes) and drinking beer. Nate was lying on the couch with his head in Brad's lap and Brad's fingers were running through his hair.  
  
Brad was about to bend over and kiss Nate's ear, bringing his attention from John McClane, who already lost his shoes, to him, who would very much like to have sex, preferably before the end of the movie, when Nate's cellphone started to ring. It was Martha's ringtone and Brad could see Nate frowning. He was supposed to have a free night.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
Brad couldn't understand the words, but she was definitely using her outdoor voice.  
  
"What?!" Nate got up quickly and changed the channels. MSNBC was showing video of Martenson from the last week meeting in Ohio, but the speaker was talking about a defraudation and Brad could clearly see SCANDAL spelled in big, red letters at the bottom of the screen.  
  
He looked at Nate, who was staring at the TV and listening to Martha on the phone. Then he turned and looked back at Brad, looking like he couldn't believe what was happening.  
  
"I can't believe this," he said, as if confirming Brad's thought. "I can't fucking believe this."  
  
.  
  
During the week after Martenson scandal broke, Nate slept maybe ten hours all together. There were meetings and talks, refusals to meet and talk, and strategic campaign meetings that lasted till dawn. Brad rarely saw Nate and most of that time Nate was either on the phone or unconscious.  
  
Countless sheets of paper were lying all over their place and that whole situation was starting to look more and more like Nate's college days to Brad. Not that he was around a lot then, but he caught a few things here and there. And finals time looked almost exactly like that.  
  
.  
  
Eight days after The Story, Brad was eating pepperoni pizza and reading a report about the US-Mexico border that Nate left on the coffee table this morning, when his beloved husband came home. Brad lifted his head from the couch and caught sight of Nate going straight to the bathroom. He left the slightly greasy report on the coffee table and went after him.  
  
"Hello to you too, darling," Brad said coming into the bathroom. Nate was standing in front of the mirror and not moving. He blinked at Brad.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't see you," Nate came closer to kiss Brad. "I need a shower really badly."  
  
"And bed. You need our bed." Nate shook his head, but Brad didn't let him say anything.   
  
"No, Nate. It's late and you're exhausted. You haven't slept in forever and now it's time to do just that. You don't have to keep watch 24/7."  
  
Brad put his hands on Nate's head, slowly threading his fingers through Nate's hair. Nate made an encouraging noise and leaned into his touch.  
  
"I really should..."  
  
"He had already lost, Nate. Nothing short of you having some kind of illicit affair would change the fact that you will win the primaries. You will win the fucking nomination."  
  
"Because I don't have any kind of illicit affair," Nate said quietly.  
  
"That's because you're an outstanding human being. And because I would kill you if you had one."  
  
"You'd have to do that before the announcement, _if_ I win. After that, I'll have more than a couple of agents, I'll have a full Secret Service team and it won't be so easy to kill me."  
  
"I'd just have to step up my game a little."  
  
"Well..." Nate murmured, kissing Brad's jaw and wrapping his arms around Brad's waist. "We could play a different one right now."  
  
Brad smirked.  
  
"You're lucky I'm easy. Your sex talk is really, really bad."  
  
Nate moved his hand to Brad's cock, palming it through two layers of clothes.  
  
"Come on, shower with me," he said, kissing Brad's neck.  
  
"One day we will be too old for the shower blowjobs, I'm afraid." Brad stepped back to undress and watch Nate do the same.  
  
The big cabin was one of the best things about their apartment, in Brad's opinion.  
  
"Today is not that day. And when it is, we will figure something out. Marines make do, Brad," Nate looked up at him from his knees. "Today is the day I could fall asleep if you'd want to have sex in our bed, though."  
  
Brad spread his legs and put one of his hands on Nate's head.  
  
"You say the sweetest things," he groaned when Nate's tongue touched him.  
  
.  
  
So, during the week after the Martenson scandal broke, Nate slept maybe ten hours altogether, because there were meetings and talks, refusals to meet and talk, and strategic campaign meetings that lasted till dawn. And Brad rarely saw Nate and most of that time Nate was either on the phone or unconscious.  
  
That's why it took Brad over a week to notice. He should have noticed it the night before, in Nate's quiet words when Brad told him he was going to win.  
  
 _Because I don't have any kind of illicit affair._  
  
Brad should have noticed, but there was Nate, close and willing, touching him, so he didn't. Not until the next morning, when he was eating breakfast in the living room and absentmindedly surfing channels until he heard Nate's name.  
  
 _"The only winner here is Nathaniel Fick, who will get the nomination he wanted so badly. And let me tell you, he should be ecstatic, because the only reason he gets it is the fact that he doesn't have an affair with his assistant and he doesn’t steal money from the government. He would never win this otherwise."  
  
"The polls..."  
  
"He's young and handsome, and he's not stupid, so he did good in those polls. But it's not a Miss America pageant, it's politics. The Republican Party would not nominate him as their candidate, but now..."_  
  
Brad sat there, almost mesmerized. He silently dared the stupid motherfucker to go further, to just come up and say it outright.  
  
"Apparently I should be ecstatic that being gay is better than having an affair and stealing money."  
  
Brad turned his head towards Nate who was standing in the doorframe. He still looked so young and never more so than when he just woke up.  
  
Right now he just looked pissed off and sad.  
  
"He's an idiot," Brad said and wished he could say something different. Something better. He just didn't know what that could be.  
  
"He's not completely wrong," Nate said quietly, turning around.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I need to go to the office."  
  
Nate was already back in their bedroom before Brad caught up to him.  
  
"It's Sunday, Nate."  
  
Nate shrugged, looking for new shirt.  
  
"Nate."  
  
"Brad," Nate sighed, but didn't turn around. "I have things to do."  
  
"You can do them tomorrow."  
  
It was over a week of basically no sleep and a couple of months of barely sleeping. Nate wasn't in a fucking war and Brad had enough.  
  
"Tomorrow I have even more things to do."  
  
"Tough shit. You'll find the time. Stay home today, Nate."  
  
"I can't."  
  
Fuck it. It was time for extreme solutions. Brad fucking hated it, but he knew it would happen one day, knew it from the beginning of this fucking campaign.  
  
Knowing didn't make it easier, though.  
  
Nate always had workaholic tendencies, to say the least. But since he decided to run, he was tying himself in knots over every fucking thing and the Martenson scandal, which was supposed to help, just made it worse. Nate had to vent, had to let go and just be. And for the first time Brad felt that it wasn't something Nate could fuck out or run out of.  
  
So Brad had to play dirty. Really fucking dirty.  
  
"You will never be perfect, Nate. You will never be straight."  
  
Nate froze.  
  
"Fuck you, Brad," he said quietly, turning around. He was angry, but not enough.  
  
"That's what I'm talking about."  
  
"Shut the fuck up," Nate raised his voice, almost yelling. He never yelled. Brad couldn't back down now. He just stood there and watched Nate take a breath. "It wasn't me who... I don't have problems with being gay and you know it! So don't stand here and tell me this bullshit."  
  
"You don't have any problems with being gay. You have a problem with not being perfect."  
  
"I'm not perfect."  
  
"Of course you aren't! You can't be. But that's the problem, isn't it? You would like to be perfect. You would like to do everything right. Nathaniel Fick doesn't make mistakes." Brad hated doing this, hated looking at Nate while he was doing this. But he didn't allow himself to look elsewhere. That was his punishment for saying all this, even if he knew he had to do it. "But if you wanted the whole party to love you, you sure as hell made a few mistakes along the way. And I was your biggest one."  
  
Nate didn't punch him in the face even if it was obvious that he wanted to. He put his fist on Brad's chest, not punching, but more like putting pressure, hard, but probably not enough to even leave a mark.  
  
"You would never be a mistake, you fucking idiot."  
  
And Brad knew that, he really did. He was years past being insecure about him and Nate, but they both still remembered when he wasn't and Brad was using it right now to make a point.  
  
"Fuck it," whispered Nate, breathing harshly. "Fuck it."  
  
He turned around to put some space between them, but Brad stopped him.  
  
"Don't run away from me, Nate."  
  
Nate looked at him incredulously.  
  
" _Don't run away from me_? Are you kidding me? _I_ am the runner all of a sudden? It's you, who was always running away, Brad! You! So don't put that shit on me."  
  
"You don't run away? Nate, maybe you don't get up and run away literally, but you're shutting off. You can't even get mad at me and just fucking ride it out! Yell at me, punch me, don't just turn around and leave the room."  
  
"You are a hypocrite, I hope you are aware of that."  
  
"I am. But listen to yourself. Why aren't you yelling at me? Why do you always have to be so collected and stoic? We can fight dirty, Nate. We can get ugly with each other once in a while..."  
  
"No, we can't, Brad!" Nate raised his voice and tried to get away, but Brad just tightened his hold.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because... we just can't, okay?"  
  
"No, that's not okay at all. Shit, Nate, why can't we do this?"  
  
"What happens next?" Nate sagged in Brad's hold and his eyes were locked on the cabinet behind Brad. "What happens after we get ugly with each other, we yell, maybe punch each other for a good measure. What's next? What if..."  
  
Brad had a really bad feeling about this. Really bad fucking feeling.  
  
"Nate?" he asked quietly.  
  
"What if you leave?" Nate said softly. "What if I say something that..."  
  
"Stop it."  
  
"No, you wanted to hear this." Nate was breathing faster, and if they were a little closer, Brad could probably feel his heart going crazy.  
  
Brad didn't want to hear this at all, but he had to.  
  
"What if you leave? Or what if I leave? What if we just _don't_ bounce back from it the way you apparently think we would? What if we say some things we can't get over?"  
  
"Nate." Brad shook him a little. Nate looked at him for a brief moment, then came back to admiring their fucking cabinet. "Nate, look at me. Look at me and believe me when I tell you this. I'm not in this for the rainbows and kittens, okay? I'm not in this only when it's good and you should fucking know this and I can't believe you don't, after all the shit we went through."  
  
"I know. It's not..."  
  
"Are you sure? Because if you think I'll take my bike and just go, and don't come back home to you..."  
  
"It's not that, Brad!" Nate put his hands on Brad's neck and for a moment hid his face there, too. Then he lifted his head and looked him in the eyes. "I just don't know how to do this. At all. It's not only you, it's me, too. What if I can't handle this? I'm not... It's not easy for me, I can't fight like that."  
  
"Fuck, LT, why am I only hearing about this now?"  
  
"And what I was supposed to say, exactly? 'Hey, Brad, next time we fight, make sure we don't hurt each other's feelings'? I know we'll sooner or later fight about something, I just don't want it to be ugly, okay? We can have ugly from other people, and we do, but..."  
  
"We're not exactly careful with our language, you know."  
  
"It's not about calling me a pussy civilian or a dumbass motherfucker or whatever term of endearment you come up with. It's the other stuff."  
  
Brad kissed his forehead while Nate continued.  
  
"It's not that I don't want us to fight. I don't like it, but I'm not stupid, sometimes we have to. But I don't want us to hurt each other on purpose."  
  
The way Brad did just a couple of minutes ago. Brilliant.  
  
"We're not saints, Nate. And I'm not talking about getting ugly or hurtful every time we fight. But, fuck, I can't have you thinking that I could leave you, if you'd say something I don't like. I'm not leaving you, you stupid shit. I married your ass."  
  
"My ass is very grateful for that. It cares for you deeply." Nate tried his small smile, but Brad wasn't in love with that man since yesterday.  
  
"Nate. Under no circumstances would I leave you. There's nothing you could say - well, aside from 'I don't want you anymore', but I'd probably just kill you then - that would make me leave you. Bad, ugly, hurtful, nothing. We'd fight, both of us would say some shit we don't mean and then we would make up. As always."  
  
"It's not that easy."  
  
"It is! Nate, how do you think we lived with each other for all those years? We weren't always gentle and proper, you know. And we didn't split. We won't."  
  
Nate was almost trying to climb him by now. His face tucked in Brad's neck, his arms holding him tight.  
  
"We won't," he murmured against Brad's skin.  
  
Brad pulled him even tighter.  
  
"Nate, I need... I need to know that I can say all kinds of things to you and not have you running away."  
  
He got a nod as an answer.  
  
"Nate, I need you to tell me I can say shit to you and you won't leave me for it."  
  
Nate lifted his head, kissing Brad's neck once. He looked him in the eyes.  
  
"Okay. Okay. No matter what you say, I won't leave you. I couldn't. Unless you would directly tell me to."  
  
Brad closed his eyes and put his chin on Nate's head.  
  
"Yeah. Not going to happen."  
  
They stood like that for a few minutes. Brad's arms were keeping Nate close to him, but Nate didn't fight it at all, he just tucked his face in Brad's neck and wrapped his arms around his waist.  
  
"I love you," Nate whispered. "I'm sorry."  
  
"I love you too," Brad moved a little to look at Nate and smirked. "I'm not sorry about that."  
  
Nate smiled and Brad put his thumbs on the wrinkles around his eyes to smooth them out a little.  
  
"I've obviously had a few bad days," Nate said, making a face. "Sorry I was an idiot."  
  
"I'm used to it by now, don't worry," Brad said, grinning.  
  
Nate elbowed him lightly.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Okay," Brad moved away and started to steer Nate in the direction of their bedroom. "And now we're going back to bed."  
  
"Brad."  
  
"Shut up, Nate. We're going back to bed and tomorrow you can go back to being the future president, but today you're here, with me."  
  
Brad had missed his husband home. So what.  
  
Soon after they were lying in bed, their limbs tangled together. Nate was drawing circles around Brad's navel and Brad's dick was starting to take notice, when suddenly Nate chuckled.  
  
"What?" Brad pulled Nate's hair.  
  
Nate lifted his head from Brad's chest and smiled at him.  
  
"Who would have thought that there would be a day when _you_ would be the more secure one."  
  
Brad would maybe take offense if they hadn't had the history they had. He just smirked.  
  
"American people should know you're an idiot."  
  
Nate chuckled.  
  
"You could tell them, if you would do one of those interviews people want you to do."  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _"This is DCAC live, you're on the air, speak your mind."  
  
"Hi, I'm George. This campaign is ridiculous or what? First Fick, but, you know, we could deal with it, Martenson was going to win anyway. But no, he had to have an affair! Was he out of his mind? Not to mention the fraud, you know, seriously. What is wrong with the Republicans that those two were ever the best candidates? One cheats and steals and the other..."  
  
"Oops, I think we've lost the connection. Sorry, George. Next call in, then, hi, how are you?"  
  
"I'm fine, thanks. But George, if you're still listening... You know, nevermind, it's not worth it, you're obviously an idiot. So. Moving on. Sorry. My name is Paul and I didn't want to talk about the campaign, because, damn, I'm tired of it, but the dude provoked me. So. Did you all see the clip from the Fick's meeting with those children from second grade? I mean, how adorable was that? And amazing, he explained his whole education reform plan to them using stick figures and diagrams. I mean, what the... Even my roommate understood that. I'm impressed, really, I am."_  
  
  
*  
  
  
This wasn't like any roadtrip Brad had ever been on. Or wished to be on.  
  
.  
  
There was no anonymity, because at least half of any given town knew that they were coming. They had friends and enemies there before they even arrived.  
  
In Cleveland, Ohio, Willow Stern came to support Nate, but in the end it was more like we-used-to-date-and-now-you-are-here-with-your-new-girlfriend painful, but with a couple of thousand people watching.  
  
In Somewhere Along The Way, Michigan, a small group of teenagers threw eggs on their car from the side of the road. Brad thought the kids were lucky Secret Service agents didn't shoot any of them, because in their line of work? When somebody was throwing something, it could be anything from fucking flowers to fucking Molotow cocktails and agents were often allowed to shoot first and ask questions later.  
  
Those kids were also lucky _he_ didn't have his gun with him, because Nate didn't speak a word the rest of the way.  
  
In Charleston, West Virginia, when after his speech Nate was shaking hands with people from the crowd, an approximately five-years-old girl hugged his legs and didn't want to let go. Nate lifted her to his arms and got a kiss on the cheek before passing her back to her mother. Brad was smiling like an idiot probably, he could feel it. He wanted his inner bastard back, so he looked around for Martha, who was probably over the moon about the perfect photoshoot opportunity, but when he found her, she got a soft smile on her lips that he had never seen before.  
  
.  
  
There was no driver versus shotgun debate that Brad could win, because they were being _driven_ or _flown_ everywhere.  
  
His whole body ached from hours spent in his seat.  
  
He missed his bike.  
  
.  
  
There wasn't a lot of free time or a lot of alone-with-Nate time, because they were accompanied by dozens of people. Nate's staff and Secret Service were with them all the time, but they also had temporary guests endorsing Nate.  
  
And don't even ask Brad about the media people.  
  
Martha was glued to Nate's side all the fucking time and although Brad started to really like her, sometimes he wanted her to just go away. And help Joey deal with journalists, most preferably, but really, he just wanted her gone. For her not to be with them. To leave them alone. To detach from them. To...  
  
"Yes, Brad, I think I've got it," Nate said with a smirk. Apparently Brad was thinking aloud now. "You're tired of Martha always being around."  
  
"That works, too," he shrugged.  
  
They were driving to the airport, alone in the backseat of the car. Nate shifted closer to him and Brad put his hand on Nate's thigh.  
  
"I know it's not easy," Nate said, threading his fingers through Brad's hair, "but I'm glad you're here with me."  
  
Brad leaned into the touch a little and smiled. "Where else would I be?"  
  
.  
  
Brad was wrong. He was on a roadtrip a little like that, long time ago. It was called Operation Iraqi Freedom.  
  
He was also wrong about not wishing to be on it. He might not like it much, but he still wouldn't miss it.  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _"It looks like we are saying this every eight years now, John, but history is being made, again. Sixteen years ago we had our first African American president, eight years later first woman to be ever elected president of the United States, and now, with the Republican National Convention starting in three days, we will witness the first gay person to be nominated. And who knows, maybe in less than three months, we will celebrate the first gay person to become the president of the United States."_  
  
  
*  
  
  
The big stage and the thousands of chairs in front of it reminded Brad more of a rock concert than the national convention. Why, he couldn't really say, it wasn’t like he went to a lot of them in the past. But there was something unreal about this, him standing on a stage where Nate would be accepting his nomination in two days. Nomination for the fucking president of the United States.  
  
Over a year of campaigning and all the craziness that came with it did not prepare Brad for this.  
  
"If not for the flags and the Secret Service agents, it would almost look like a Rolling Stones concert, right?" asked Nate, coming up beside him.  
  
"I don't know, are you sure there were no flags at those concerts?" Brad smirked.  
  
"None that I remember," Nate smiled back. "Fuck, Brad. Approximately twenty thousand people will be here tomorrow."  
  
"I know. I hate them all already," he deadpanned and moved a little closer to Nate, just so their shoulders were touching.  
  
"Many of them hate me, so I think it will even out."  
  
Many of the delegates did hate Nate. Brad wouldn't be surprised if some people decided not to come to the appointment of the nominee, but he preferred empty chairs over open hostility. When Martenson's scandal broke, the GOP had no other choice but to give the nomination to Nate and as happy as Brad was that some of those morons had to swallow the hard pill and smile for the cameras, he also knew that there were people who would do anything to stop it.  
  
There was a reason why Nate had Secret Service agents following him for months now. And why the number of them at the convention was higher than usual. And why Brad was on his way to having an ulcer or a heart attack, whichever would come first.  
  
Nate put his hand on the back of Brad's neck and squeezed a little, as if to reassure him that everything was going to be fine. Apart from the thing after Martenson's scandal, it was usually like this, Brad being reassured by Nate, not the other way around. _I'm okay, don't worry_ , Nate would whisper into the kiss. _I can't protect you from this_ , Brad would think, but not say it out loud, tightening his grip on Nate's hips.  
  
.  
  
Brad would later wish that he wasn't in the shower when the waiter brought the note with the dinner.  
  
When he exited the bathroom, he saw four Secret Service agents checking the room or talking on the phone and Martha casting worried looks at Nate, who was sitting against the headboard, legs crossed, silently revising his speech for tomorrow.  
  
She handed him the card.  
  
 _You'll burn in hell, faggot. You deserve to burn._  
  
"Fuck," Brad said quietly. He wanted to punch somebody. Hard.  
  
"They are looking into this," Martha whispered, with the nod to the agents. "They are talking with the waiter who brought it here; they will check the cameras, too. But I'm worried about the senator," she tilted her head in the direction of the bed. "He hasn't said more than five sentences since I got here."  
  
"I will take care of this, after you guys are done here." He wasn't subtle in the least, but he suspected she understood the bluntness for what it was.  
  
When she and the agents left the room, Brad sat beside Nate and laid his hand, palm up, on the mattress between them, nudging Nate's thigh with his thumb. Nate put the papers down and entwined his fingers with Brad's.  
  
"I'm really pissed off right now," he said, squeezing his hand.  
  
"I know." Brad was drawing circles around Nate's pulse point. "That's good."  
  
Nate nodded and rested his head on the headboard, looking up at the ceiling for a moment.  
  
"They can fuck with me all they want. I will show them."  
  
Brad brought their entwined fingers to lie on his thigh.  
  
"I know you will."  
  
They ate dinner in bed, watching in silence a documentary about Spartans. Brad would love to say that it was the end of the day, that they were taking a break until tomorrow, but he knew better. Soon enough Nate was collecting the discarded papers and getting up.  
  
"I'm going to take a shower. Could you read the speech again? I've made some changes, I want you to tell me if it's better or not."  
  
Brad took the papers. It was the best way to help Nate right now.  
  
"Sure."  
  
.  
  
"With great pleasure I introduce to you the next president and vice-president of the United States - Nathaniel Christopher Fick and Steven Joseph Winston."  
  
The applause was deafening. Brad stood on the side of the stage with Steven's wife and kids, and watched Nate shake hands with the chairman of the Republican National Committee and make a victory gesture to the crowd.  
  
With hundreds of balloons falling down from the ceiling, it was easy to miss thirty or forty empty chairs. Brad noticed, but didn't care.  
  
There was Nate on the stage, in one of the happiest moments of his life.  
  
"With a great honor, I accept the nomination..."  
  
Nate's speech was great, maybe the best he had ever given, but if it was Brad's job to write it? He would have only one thing to say:  
  
 _Deal with_ that _, America._


	3. Chapter 3

_#CNN: Sen. Nathaniel Fick is a Republican nominee for the president. #ficknominated  
  
#Sen_JackWillis: We officially have our guy. N.Fick for the president of the United States! #ficknominated  
  
#MarieH: #ficknominated I was too young to remember Obama's win, but maybe it felt just like this one.  
  
#Pa_trick: I know he didn't win yet, but wow, it's still huge. #ficknominated  
  
#mim: #ficknominated Well, I guess Republicans are ready to lose again. Another 8y for Democrats?  
  
#teooo: Have you seen the empty chairs on the audience? No class. #ficknominated  
  
#qwerty: @teooo Or maybe just doing what you believe in? #ficknominated  
  
#teooo: @qwerty If you believe in being a jackass, sure. #ficknominated  
  
#Stevaah: Didn't think I'd see the day. Though, sadly, it's probably as far as he'll go. #ficknominated_  
  
  
*  
  
  
Brad got used to the Secret Service following him around. He acknowledged that he didn't have a choice, so he gritted his teeth and accepted the small team who was responsible for keeping him safe.  
  
They were more respectful of his privacy that he initially assumed and after two weeks it stopped being a pain in his ass for the most part.  
  
After the third time he didn't even try to escape Simmons following him when he wanted to take his Yamaha for a ride. They talked and negotiated the rules. Not too close, not too far, not during the night. They didn't agree on not too fast. After that, they talked shop and bonded over their mutual love of Japan engineering.  
  
Brad could live with that.  
  
.  
  
He tried to draw a line when they told him he should have an assistant.  
  
"I don't need anyone's help to get through the day," he argued.  
  
They were eating lunch at the campaign office in San Francisco, Brad, Nate, Martha and Joe, along with Mark and Jessie, the speech writing duo, and Riley, Joe's assistant.  
  
"If the senator wins, you'll have a whole team, you should get used to it," Joe said, shrugging.  
  
That wasn't the best thing he could say.  
  
"I won't..." Brad started.  
  
"Yes, you will," Martha interrupted him. "Look, I'm sorry, Brad, I know you hate the idea, but you will need those people. The spouse of the president always has a staff. They are not there just to be around, they are useful. Your schedule will look more crazy than you're used to. You will have limited time at work, but there are other things..."  
  
He tuned her out. His work. Fuck.  
  
He wasn't hungry anymore.  
  
"Guys, could you leave us for a moment?" Nate asked the staff, _his staff_.  
  
"Hey," Nate started when they were alone, "what's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing's wrong," Brad said, putting the box of Chinese food on the table. "I just don't want any assistants."  
  
"Is it about the retirement?" Nate asked quietly. He felt guilty about this, Brad knew it. And it wasn't that bad, really, it was just...  
  
"I had to do it some day, right? It's just... weird."  
  
"I know," Nate said, laying his forehead on Brad's shoulder for a moment. "I'm sorry."  
  
Brad put his hand on the back of Nate's neck, thumb stroking his hair.  
  
"We talked about this. And you didn't make this decision alone." They did. And Nate didn't. When they talked about Nate running for president, they covered the fact that if he would become the Commander in Chief, Brad couldn't be in the Marine Corps anymore. Brad agreed to retire and he talked with his boss. He didn't even have to lose his job, he would return as a civilian employee. With limited hours, because he would be the First Gentleman. "It just comes back sometimes, like this big... thing. It's a big change."  
  
"I know," Nate repeated, looking at him with a sad smile. "You've been serving for over thirty years now. It would be strange if it wasn't a big thing."  
  
"It would be much worse if I wasn't able to keep my job," Brad admitted. He would work less, but the Warfighting Laboratory agreed to accommodate him.  
  
Nate kissed him. And then someone knocked on the door.  
  
"Come in," Nate said, pulling back, but still leaving his arm on Brad's chair.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir, but you have a meeting in twenty minutes and we need to go," Martha said, walking in. She had three people with her. "Brad," she turned to him, "these are your choices for the assistant. Please, pick someone."  
  
And then Nate and Martha left, leaving him with people he didn't know who he had to interview for a job. Fuck his life.  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _"Commentators agree that Senator Fick was a winner of both debates. They say that Fick has better, much clearer vision for the country and that his plans for reforming military and intelligence are the best ideas we have had in terms of our national security for years. They also note that although the security is the topic closer to the Republicans, Fick's positive vision of politics involving cooperation and engagement of everyone speaks to the Democrats, especially young people. Will it swing some unlikely votes his way? And will it be enough to convince undecideds to vote for him? With not so small number of the Republicans refusing to vote for their own party's candidate, Fick needs the votes of undecideds to go majorly in his favor."_  
  
  
*  
  
  
"You know what is the best part of this campaign?" asked Brad, sitting up and taking his coffee from Nate.  
  
"Room service?" Nate smirked.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
They weren't living in expensive hotels. Nate believed in spending their money on something more important, even if some people would prefer to have an actual room service and whatever else. In the end, there was always an intern who would bring people coffee each morning.  
  
Like today.  
  
"Morning sex?" Brad nudged Nate, who was sitting next to him, leaning against the headboard.  
  
Nate laughed into his coffee.  
  
"How romantic of you."  
  
"That's me," he easily agreed, putting his mug on the nightstand. He lay down facing Nate and lifted his eyebrows expectantly.  
  
"You're serious," Nate decided and gulped the rest of his coffee in couple of swallows. Brad nodded, staring at his neck. His hand was already on Nate's sweatpants, pushing them down.  
  
"Of course I'm serious," he said, kissing Nate's collarbone and moving down to nip at Nate's left hip. "You know how cranky I can be, if I don't get any."  
  
"Remember the time when you had to work for it?" Nate asked, putting his mug away, and took off his t-shirt.  
  
"Not really." Brad's lips were moving towards Nate's navel.  
  
"Fucker," Nate laughed. He was ticklish there.  
  
"You know me so well." Brad moved on top of Nate, who spread his legs willingly and kissed him hard.  
  
Nate's cell rang when Brad had two fingers inside of Nate and they both groaned. Brad got to the phone first.  
  
"Hello, Martha, what can I do for you today?" he said, scissoring his fingers and grinning at Nate, who was biting his lip to keep quiet.  
  
"Hello, Brad, is the senator there?"  
  
"He just went to take a shower." Brad sat up and put third finger in. Nate arched up a little from the bed as his muscles tensed up.  
  
"I know we were supposed to meet at nine, but I need to..."  
  
"Give him ten minutes," Brad said quickly, moving his fingers in and out a little faster. Nate looked at him incredulously and kicked him in the ass. "Fifteen, maybe."  
  
Martha laughed.  
  
"I'm really disappointed, Brad. I thought better of you."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about." Nate shuddered under him. Brad leaned in a little to kiss his stomach and chest.  
  
"I bet you don't. Tell the boss that I'll come in thirty minutes."  
  
"There's so many things I could say to that."  
  
"Three words: sexual harrassment policy. Also, I could come knocking in five minutes. With photoreporters."  
  
"See you in thirty minutes," Brad said and disconnected the call.  
  
"I hate you so much," Nate groaned. He wrapped his legs around Brad's waist to bring him closer. "Fuck me right now."  
  
"Or lose you forever?" Brad felt laughter building somewhere inside him, threatening to explode out of him. He grabbed Nate's hips and positioned himself.  
  
"Right the fuck..." Nate groaned again, when Brad pushed in. "...now."  
  
.  
  
Half an hour later they were both freshly showered and dressed, and Martha was briefing Nate on the new Israeli-Palestinian clusterfuck.  
  
Brad's life was definitely interesting these days.  
  
"Has the president already commented on this?" asked Nate, playing with his watch.  
  
"Not yet. I think she's waiting for some kind of confirmation on what's going on there exactly," Martha said, only briefly looking back from CNN. "For now it's only a video someone put on the Internet and a couple of unconfirmed stories."  
  
"There are some pretty convincing photos as well."  
  
Martha shrugged.  
  
"She's stalling. I would, too."  
  
"She can. But it will be the first question I get as soon as I leave the room."  
  
"But it could be a good thing," Martha pointed out. "Miller will stall, too, because he has to wait and see what the president’s going to say. It's your chance to speak up first."  
  
"And they will compare whatever they say to whatever you said earlier," Brad added.  
  
"I know," Nate said, checking the time. "Let's get this over with, we have to be at the town hall meeting in forty minutes."  
  
"Do you know what you're going to say, Senator?"  
  
"Nothing new, I'm afraid," Nate smiled self-deprecatingly and stood up. "I will say that we're waiting for more information, although it looks like it's serious. But nothing has changed in my view of the Israeli-Palestinian situation. I'm not promising peace, because I don't have a magic wand," he said, putting on his jacket. Martha was nodding and writing his words down. "I can promise that an offer of assistance will always be open, if they wish to use our help. I can promise I will do my best. And I won't hesitate to say that either side is wrong, if they attack the other. But I'm not accusing anybody of anything before I know something more."  
  
"That's very rational of you," Brad commented, smirking. "People will hate it. They got used to rather trigger-happy Republicans."  
  
"And then they threw us out from the White House for sixteen years," Martha said. "It's good, Senator. I will give it to Joe, but if you say it to those guys downstairs, the story will run on its own."  
  
Nate nodded.  
  
"It will be the topic of the day, so keep me posted. And I need Felicia to ride with me to the meeting and catch me up on everything that was going on there." He looked at Brad and then turned back to Martha. "Meet me downstairs in five?"  
  
After she left, Nate wrapped his arms around Brad's waist, pulling him in for a kiss.  
  
"You're good?"  
  
Brad pressed their foreheads together.  
  
"I'm good. I got laid, remember?"  
  
Nate laughed and ran his palms over Brad's back.  
  
"I remember very well."  
  
"Our lives are crazy," Brad murmured, kissing Nate's neck and stepping back. "Let's order pizza tonight."  
  
They used to do it often, back when Nate was still in college or right after and when Brad had his leave. They would wake up early, go for a run and then go back, shower and spend the rest of the day in Nate's small apartment, having sex, reading, sharing stories, watching movies. They would order pizza and eat it on the floor, young and carefree like they never were in Iraq. Like they were only with each other and only then.  
  
Nate usually didn't look much older than he was back then, but sometimes when he was laughing hard, with his head thrown back, or smiling his biggest, most honest smile, Brad remembered more clearly the times when there were no lines around Nate's eyes and no grey hair. And sometimes he missed it, that version of Nate, of them, sometimes he wanted to get it back for a while. Today was one of those days.  
  
Nate kissed his jaw and smiled.  
  
"It's a date."  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _"Remember, remember, the fifth of November";  
  
"Last stop: California";  
  
"Is it okay to be gay in the White House, America?";  
  
"Miller already in his home town";  
  
"The Rainbow House"  
  
"Undecideds decided on Fick?";  
  
"WWAD? What Will America Do?"_  
  
  
*  
  
  
When their plane landed in Baltimore, they still had two hours before the voting would start.  
  
Nate slept for more or less that long in the last forty-eight hours and Brad was almost ready to punch or fuck him unconscious, and well, that only left him with one option, really, because aside from the unwritten, but rather obvious rule of no physical violence in their relationship, they really couldn't afford to have Nate with a black eye, could they?  
  
Brad was probably a little sleep deprived himself.  
  
They were alone in the backseat and Nate put his head on Brad's shoulder for a moment.  
  
"I need a shower so bad," he said, his hand running slowly up and down on Brad's thigh.  
  
Brad stopped the movement, laying his hand on top of Nate's. Nate wasn't doing it on purpose, but it wasn't like Brad's body could tell the difference and Brad didn't want to start anything they couldn't finish in the car.  
  
"Me too," he said, closing his eyes.  
  
"Yeah," murmured Nate quietly, but still put his nose in Brad's neck.  
  
"Fuck you," Brad laughed quietly.  
  
"What?" Nate opened his eyes and looked at him with unfocused eyes. He blinked a couple of times. "Oh. I was thinking about sharing the shower with you, not that, you know."  
  
"I smell?" Brad smirked and Nate kissed him.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
.  
  
Whatever plans Brad might have had to induce Nate into a post-coital coma after the shower and mutual blowjobs, they failed under the joined forces of almost every member of the Fick family, who wanted to hear about the last days of the campaign and gave their opinion about Nate's chances in each and every state, Brad suspected. He was glad Diane stayed in California, because he might not have been able to be civil, if she was as rude as the last time they saw her.  
  
Brad quickly escaped to the kitchen anyway, in time to get a fresh cup of coffee from Nate's dad.  
  
"How are you, Brad?" he asked, handing him sugar.  
  
"Tired, mostly," Brad admitted.  
  
"And ready for this to be over?"  
  
 _Fuck, yes._  
  
"Yes, exactly. It was a long couple of months. Well, year and a half, but who's counting, right?"  
  
They both smiled.  
  
"He did an incredible thing," Nate's dad said, sitting down with his coffee.  
  
Brad nodded.  
  
"And he still can do much more than that," he said. He didn't get emotional over Nate, not really. He loved him, that was as simple as almost nothing else in Brad's life, and he didn't sit around and think about reasons for or against it. But the enormity of things that Nate could accomplish, the fact that he could be and do things other people dreamt about - all of this sometimes got to Brad. Sometimes it would stop him right where he was, like in the kitchen in the house of Nate's parents, drinking coffee on the presidential election day.  
  
He would never talk with Nate's mom or sisters about how amazing Nate was or whatever. They knew and loved him longer than Brad did, they were aware of that. But sitting with Nate's dad in that moment gave him the feeling that Christopher understood. It wasn't about love, it was about respect and looking back, Brad respected Nate much longer than he loved him.  
  
.  
  
"Okay. That's not so bad. Well, yes, but... Okay, that's still not so bad. Well, I expected it to be worse, to be honest, so..."  
  
"Hey," Brad kicked him, when Nate was walking past the couch. "Put her on speaker."  
  
"Of course, sorry. Martha, I'm putting you on speaker," he said turning it on and sitting down next to Brad. "Go on."  
  
"Okay, so one more time. For now we're up by one in Georgia and Louisiana, two in North Carolina and Virginia. We're down by one in New Jersey and two in New York. I'm a little worried about turnout in South Carolina, Alabama and Florida, but it's still early."  
  
"Two out of three are swing states, so anything can happen," Brad said, looking at Nate, who shrugged.  
  
"That's true. Wow, the last time Alabama was a swing state was what, 1980?"  
  
"But Reagan still won," Martha countered. "So, the weather is supposed to be good on the West Coast and..."  
  
.  
  
"Okay, I'm blinded a little by all those camera flashes, what if I choose the wrong candidate?" Brad whispered to Nate just after they entered the polling place.  
  
"Well, think of it this way: you're either voting for sex for the rest of your life or no sex ever again. Your eyesight should improve instantly," Nate whispered back, flashing a smile to the election judges and scrutineers.  
  
"Nathaniel," his mother hissed quietly from behind.  
  
"Or I could vote as you," Nate added quickly.  
  
Brad laughed.  
  
"So you're trying to make me vote for you using either a bribe involving sexual favours, which I approve of by the way, or a fraud?"  
  
"Guys, seriously," Beth sighed. "There are microphones here. A lot of them."  
  
In the end they would have probably gone on like this for a little longer, if not for Chloe, who left Emily's side and elbowed her way to Nate.  
  
"Uncle Nate!" she shouted, reaching out for him to lift her, which he obediently did. "Can I vote with you?"  
  
Cameras were rolling and the flashes went crazy again. Unscripted Kodak moment in their life.  
  
Brad wanted a copy of that.  
  
.  
  
"Tell Chloe I'm buying her ice cream the next time I see her," was the first thing Martha said, when Nate called her.  
  
"I knew you would love it," Brad said, stretching his legs as much as he could in the car.  
  
"Don't pretend you didn't, I saw you smiling on national television," she laughed.  
  
"If you were working for me, I'd fire you."  
  
"Some people almost swooned here..."  
  
"Maybe you should keep them hydrated until it's over, what do you think?"  
  
"Guys, guys," Nate was laughing. "Please, stop. I wanted to hear about the exit polls, not about people who are swooning because of my husband, okay?"  
  
"Don't worry, I'm sure there are people that are almost-swooning over you, too," Brad assured him, laughing.  
  
"Well, there was that woman in South Dakota..."  
  
"Focus! Focus, please," Nate said, kicking Brad. "Martha, just give me those numbers."  
  
"Sorry, boss. So, we're down by three in Colorado and Illinois, one in Pennsylvania, four in Connecticut and two in South Carolina, but we're up by two in Maryland, three in North Carolina and we just moved to the front in California, we're up by two."  
  
"That’s not bad," Nate was serious again, frown lines more visible than usual. He almost looked his age.  
  
They knew for a long time that they had to win California or they would lose. With Texas going for a Democrat and some of the other red states suddenly becoming swing states, they had thrown a lot of time and money at California. In the worst case scenario, it would be all over before people even stopped voting in there, but in the best one Nate would win their fifty-five electoral votes and he and Miller would go neck-to-neck for the last states.  
  
"When are you going to be here, Senator? It's madness in the whole building, obviously, but the podium is ready outside and there are more and more people coming."  
  
"We have a late lunch with the mayor and short meeting with the students, but after that we're coming to you, so I'd say, around seven or eight."  
  
.  
  
"This is madness," Nate was standing in the door of the main office, looking at people running around and not noticing him, and he was smiling at it all. He seemed to lose the tension he was carrying around for the whole day (or week, or year in a half). Brad could feel himself relaxing as well.  
  
There was really nothing they could do at this point and it was exhilarating.  
  
A few seconds later Martha noticed them and the moment was broken, but the feeling didn't go away, not really.  
  
"They've called Pennsylvania and Vermont for Miller and Georgia, Kentucky, Indiana, Virginia and West Virginia for you, Senator," Martha said, fast. "We're still waiting for the rest."  
  
"So it's twenty-six versus fifty-two," Brad counted. He could recite the electoral votes of all fifty states by now. He actually did that once when he couldn't sleep.  
  
"That's not bad," Nate smiled at them, relaxed, looking odd in the room full of nervous tension. Martha looked like she wasn't sure if he wasn't having a nervous breakdown.  
  
"Just tell us where there's a room with a couch and TV," Brad told her with a smile.  
  
It was entirely possible she would have a heart attack before this night was over and Nate would have to find a new Chief of Staff.  
  
.  
  
 _This is what the eye of the storm feels like_ , Brad thought, standing with Nate in front of a dozen TV screens in the main office. _When you're still in it, but it's moving fast._  
  
They were losing by almost fifty votes and everyone was holding their breath for the results from California, Oregon and Nevada. Well, everyone except Nate, who looked like he was meditating in front of those screens, hypnotized by various maps, graphs and commentators on mute.  
  
"Are you alright?" Brad asked, turning to stand in front of him, blocking out his view.  
  
"I'm..." Nate blinked a couple of times and concentrated on Brad's chin. "Calm. I have this strange feeling of... disconnection, you know?" Nate looked him in the eyes and Brad nodded, his hands coming up on Nate's neck. "I hadn't had that feeling in _years_."  
  
Not since Iraq's aftermath.  
  
Brad went to kiss Nate, but they were interrupted. Someone turned the voice on CNN.  
  
 _"And now, with the reports from eighty-seven percent of polling places in, we're ready to call the state of California for... Senator Nathaniel Fick!"_  
  
Two things Brad would later remember from that moment: the noise was incredibly loud and Nate's eyes were incredibly green.  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _"We haven't had a race this close in years. With Senator Fick winning California, it's still too close to call who will be the next president."  
  
"You're right, Jon. It's been a long time. It was still in the Before Beard era."  
  
"It was fourteen years ago, you really should let this go, Stephen."  
  
"But I've only mentioned it a couple of times!"  
  
"You've mentioned it on every election night since 2012."  
  
"Well, we didn't have a lot of them, did we? And it's our thing, Jon! Our tradition, something we both enjoy and cherish..."  
  
"Speak for yourself."  
  
"I enjoy it immensely."  
  
"I can tell. Shall we continue with the results or do you want to stay on the topic of my _long forgotten _beard?"  
  
"We can move on."  
  
"Thank you. And right on time, I see. The results just came in from..."  
  
"Let me, Jon, let me, I want to do it this time!"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"You always do it, you know. Now it's my turn..."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"You actually did this every time we were doing it together and we've been doing it together for a long, long time. And you always have to be on top!"  
  
"Just _tell them _, Stephen!"  
  
"Thank you, Jon. Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States is Nathaniel Fick."_


	4. Chapter 4

**_Epilogue_**  
  
  
  
"Wake up, Fick, it's your graduation day," Brad says, running his fingers over Nate's back. Nate arches into the touch, but doesn't make any move to get up.  
  
"Do I have to wear an ugly robe?" he asks with his face tucked into his arm.  
  
"I'm not sure. But if you do, I'll happily disrobe you afterwards."  
  
"It's nice of you," Nate mutters without lifting his head.  
  
"I aim to please," Brad agrees and then gives Nate's hair a little tug. "Nate, come on."  
  
"I'm awake," he says, turning to lie on his back. He had probably been up for hours already. "But I've decided I'm not getting up."  
  
"I'm not sure the party can start without you, you know."  
  
"We still have time, right?"  
  
"I don't know, you're the popular one. Don't you have any meetings beforehand?"  
  
"I'm meeting General Pears and General Matthew in about an hour, then breakfast and then _we_ have a meeting with the president and her husband in the White House before the ceremony."  
  
"It's as if you were someone important."  
  
"As if," Nate smiles and turns to kiss him. "Five more minutes," he says with his lips against Brad's.  
  
.  
  
"How many?" he almost chokes on his coffee.  
  
"Six, sir," Tony says and Brad sighs inwardly. He gave up on explaining that he didn't want to be called 'sir' all the damn time. Or at all. Apparently, when your husband is elected president, suddenly nobody but him and the rest of your family can call you by your name. Brad's managed to convince Martha at least, after she tried it one time. "It's how it's supposed to be," she said, but he told her he didn't care. Then there was her "What if I slip in public one day and the press will notice?" and his "What if I ignore you in public when you call me 'sir' and the press will notice?", and just like that he won.  
  
"We have to go to six inaugural balls," Nate's voice brings him back to the conversation.  
  
"Why?" he almost whines.  
  
"Because there are six balls organized?" Tony replies and this is why Brad picked him to work with. Nate smiles.  
  
"You have to show up for just about twenty, thirty minutes," Andrew, Nate's assistant, explains. "Shake some hands, make a toast..."  
  
"We will be drunk before we go to our last one," Nate says.  
  
"Maybe you will," Brad smirks and Nate kicks him. Martha rolls her eyes.  
  
"You don't have to drink the whole champagne. The president makes the toast, you both take a sip and that's it."  
  
_She meant Nate_ , Brad thinks. He thought of President Wilkinson, but she meant Nate.  
  
"Mark is writing those toasts for you, sir. You will get them in the car on the way."  
  
"I can make a toast by myself, I've done it before," Nate tries.  
  
"I'm sure you did, sir, but it's different."  
  
"Let Mark do this," Brad says. "It will be a nice change after writing two hundred pages of inaugural speech. Which, by the way, I hope is great, because it's going to be _cold_ out there."  
  
"It will make you cry," Nate deadpans. "So, a toast that I won't write and champagne I won't drink. Something else?"  
  
Andrew looks nervous.  
  
"Well, usually there's a dance of the First Couple, but it was suggested by the committee that we may skip that part. So it will be..."  
  
"Who suggested it?" asks Nate and Brad knows trouble when he sees it. Nate would want to dance only to show everybody that they can. They have never danced together, not even at their wedding. They aren't starting now.  
  
"Whoever it is, he, or she, will be glad to hear that we're not going to dance," he says calmly, trying to downplay how serious he is about this. Only one person is supposed to hear it and he does.  
  
"We're not," Nate agrees, looking at Andrew before turning to Brad. "I guess we will have a lot of hands to shake."  
  
Brad smiles at him.  
  
"Aren't you used to it by now?"  
  
.  
  
"At what point does this stop being surreal?" Brad wants to ask, but feels it's stupid, so he doesn't. _At what point does it stop being surreal that your spouse is the president? At what point do you stop caring that you're living in the fucking White House? And when both of those happen, how do you stop yourself from going mad?_  
  
"It never really goes away," Wilkinson says, still standing in the patio door, smiling at him and pretending he isn't giving Brad time to get over himself. Nate and the president are already outside of the Oval Office, but Brad lingered a couple steps behind to have one more look at the room.  
  
"Does it get better?" he asks, when they step outside.  
  
"Yes," Wilkinson says. "You can get used to it after some time. At the beginning every time I came into the Oval Office, I was... intimidated. But one day I just went in, because Donna was horribly late, and I didn't even notice the room. After that, it was better. Of course, you can't just do it anytime you want, especially if your husband is in a meeting, but aside from that, you have more or less a free pass."  
  
They join their spouses and the president leads them to the East Wing.  
  
"It's a little difficult to make it look like home," she says, "but I'm sure you'll manage."  
  
After the quick tour, Brad thinks that the only way to do that, would be to throw away almost everything and start again. But that's most likely not gonna happen.  
  
.  
  
After some time, Brad won't remember the morning conversation, because they've had and will have thousands of them over the years. He won't care about the inaugural balls. He will get used to the White House, the _magnificent_ bed they will love and the scary living room they will almost never be in, the cooking staff and the cleaning staff, he will get used to everything and everyone.  
  
He will get used to this life, similar and completely different than what they had before. He won't remember in details the novelty of it all.  
  
But nothing will ever, ever feel like this:  
  
  
It's so cold when they're standing up, the wind stronger than just moments before, when Brad was simply a part of the crowd ( _There were over one hundred and fifty thousand people there_ , Martha will tell him later). Brad has a copy of the Constitution in his hands ( _It's insulting_ , Nate said, when the committee proposed the Bible, _when you swear on a symbol of something you don't believe in_ ) and moves his icy-cold toes a little ( _I hope nobody's filming my shoes right now_ , he thinks).  
  
Nate next to him is dressed in a black coat and the lines on his face are almost invisible now, his eyes shining, but calm, when he says:  
  
"I do solemnly affirm that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States..."

**Author's Note:**

> I've been nostalgic about this fandom lately and then decided to put my old stories here.
> 
> This one was written for WarBigBang 2010 challenge over at livejournal. Since it's been six years, the story's a bit dated in some ways, but I hope it can still still be enjoyable as it is.
> 
> Disclaimer: my stories in this fandom are based on the fictionalized characters from the HBO miniseries Generation Kill as portrayed by the cast. It's fiction, that's all. In no way I want to connect it to and I assume nothing about the people who are behind the story of the book that is behind the series. I mean no disrespect.


End file.
